In solemn gloom of branches interwove? Or bear'st thy ægis o'er the burning field Where like the sea the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft, piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer through the desert rove? Or does the afflicted man thy heavenly bosom move?
WHEN silver snow decks Susan's clothes, And jewel hangs at th' shepherd's nose, The blushing bank is all my care, With hearth so red, and walls so fair. 'Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher; The oaken log lay on the fire.
The well-washed stools, a circling row, With lad and lass, how fair the show! The merry can of nut-brown ale, The laughing jest, the love-sick tale,— Till, tired of chat, the game begins, The lasses prick the lads with pins. Roger from Dolly twitched the stool; She, falling, kissed the ground, poor fool! She blushed so red, with sidelong glance At hobnail Dick, who grieved the chance. But now for Blind-man's Buff they call; Of each incumbrance clear the hall.
Jenny her silken kerchief folds, And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds. Now laughing stops, with 'Silence, hush! And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push. The Blind-man's arms, extended wide, Sam slips between :-'Oh woe betide Thee, clumsy Will!'-But tittering Kate Is penned up in the corner strait ! And now Will's eyes beheld the play; He thought his face was t'other way.
'Now, Kitty, now! what chance hast thou? Roger so near thee trips, I vow!' She catches him-then Roger ties His own head up-but not his eyes; For through the slender cloth he sees, And runs at Sam, who slips with ease His clumsy hold; and dodging round, Sukey is tumbled on the ground.- 'See what it is to play unfair!
Where cheating is, there's mischief there.' But Roger still pursues the chase,- 'He sees! he sees!' cries softly Grace; 'O Roger, thou, unskilled in art,
Must, surer bound, go through thy part!'
Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rhymes, And Roger turns him round three times, Then pauses ere he starts. But Dick Was mischief-bent upon a trick : Down on his hands and knees he lay Directly in the Blind-man's way,
Then cries out 'Hem!'-Hodge heard, and ran With hood-winked chance-sure of his man; But down he came.-Alas, how frail
Our best of hopes, how soon they fail!
With crimson drops he stains the ground;
Confusion startles all around.
Poor piteous Dick supports his head, And fain would cure the hurt he made. But Kitty hasted with a key,
And down his back they straight convey
The cold relief: the blood is stayed, And Hodge again holds up his head.
Such are the fortunes of the game; And those who play should stop the same By wholesome laws, such as- -All those Who on the blinded man impose Stand in his stead; as, long agone,
When men were first a nation grown,
Lawless they lived, till wantonness And liberty began to increase, And one man lay in another's way; Then laws were made to keep fair play.
KING EDWARD.
THE BLACK PRINCE.
QUEEN PHILIPPA.
DUKE OF CLARENCE.
SIR THOMAS DAGWORTH. SIR WALTER Manny.
LORD AUDLEY.
LORD PERCY.
BISHOP.
WILLIAM, Dagworth's man.
PETER BLUNT, a common soldier.
SCENE I.-The Coast of France.
KING EDWARD and Nobles before it.
O THOU to whose fury the nations are
But as the dust! maintain Thy servant's right. Without Thine aid, the twisted mail, and spear, And forged helm, and shield of beaten brass, Are idle trophies of the vanquisher.
When confusion rages, when the field's in flame, When cries of blood tear horror out of heaven, And yelling Death runs up and down the ranks, Let Liberty, the chartered right of Englishmen, Won by our fathers in many a glorious field, Innerve my soldiers; let Liberty
Blaze in each countenance, and fire the battle. The enemy fight in chains, invisible, heavy; Their minds are fettered; how can they be free? While, like the mounting flame,
We spring to battle o'er the floods of death! And these fair youths,-the flower of England, Venturing their lives in my most righteous cause,—
Oh sheathe their hearts with triple steel, that they May emulate their fathers' virtues! Thou, My son, be strong; thou fightest for a crown That death can never ravish from thy brow, A crown of glory-From thy very dust Shall beam a radiance, to fire the breasts Of youth unborn! Our names are written equal In Fame's wide-trophied hall; 'tis ours to gild The letters, and to make them shine with gold That never tarnishes: whether Third Edward, The Prince of Wales, Montacute, Mortimer, Or ev'n the least by birth gain brightest fame, Is in His hand to whom all men are equal. The world of men are like the numerous stars That beam and twinkle in the depth of night, Each clad in glory according to his sphere; But we, that wander from our native seats And beam forth lustre on a darkling world, Grow large as we advance; and some perhaps The most obscure at home, that scarce were seen To twinkle in their sphere, may so advance That the astonished world, with upturned eyes, Regardless of the moon, and those once bright, Stand only for to gaze upon their splendour.
[He here knights the Prince and other young Nobles. Now let us take a just revenge for those Brave Lords who fell beneath the bloody axe At Paris. Noble Harcourt, thanks, for 'twas By your advice we landed here in Brittany, A country not yet sown with destruction, And where the fiery whirlwind of swift war Has not yet swept its desolating wing.- Into three parties we divide by day, And separate march, but join again at night: Each knows his rank, and Heaven marshal all.
SCENE II.-English Court.
LIONEL, DUKE OF CLARENCE, QUEEN PHILIPPA, Lords, Bishop, etc.
My Lords, I have by the advice of her Whom I am doubly bound to obey, my parent And my sovereign, called you together. My task is great, my burden heavier than
Yet with your kind assistance, Lords, I hope England shall dwell in peace: that, while my father Toils in his wars, and turns his eyes on this His native shore, and sees commerce fly round With his white wings, and sees his golden London And her silver Thames, thronged with shining spires And corded ships, her merchants buzzing round Like summer bees, and all the golden cities O'erflowing with their honey in his land, Glory may not be dimmed with clouds of care. Say, Lords, should not our thoughts be first to com- merce?
You, my Lord Bishop, commend agriculture?
Sweet Prince, I know the arts of peace are great And no less glorious than those of war, Perhaps more, in the philosophic mind. When I sit at my home, a private man, My thoughts are on my gardens and my fields, How to employ the hand that lacketh bread. If Industry is in my diocese,
Religion will flourish; each man's heart Is cultivated and will bring forth fruit: This is my private duty and my pleasure. But, as I sit in council with my prince,
My thoughts take in the general good of the whole, And England is the land favoured by Commerce; For Commerce, though the child of Agriculture,
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